


snowstorm

by lacksley



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Minor Car Accident, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Resolved Romantic Tension, Snowed In, frenemies to lovers, sharing a blanket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 13:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10900314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacksley/pseuds/lacksley
Summary: solavellan rival university professors AUdriving to some kind of winter staff party in a snowstorm turns out to not be the best idea, especially when you secretly like the asshole going with you





	snowstorm

She lives in a quiet, pleasant neighborhood. It’s not far from the university, and it’s beautiful. Brick houses covered in snow with trails of smoke winding from the chimneys as the sun sets, and it was all too picturesque.

It suited her.

Solas counts the house numbers, slowing to a halt as a snowball fight runs into the street. The children wave cheerfully and scurry back into their yard and he presses on, the snow high enough now to scrape the undercarriage of his car. He feels… apprehensive. This is her _home,_ her private space, and his entering it feels like an intrusion, despite their half-hearted rivalry. Or friendship.

Solas really couldn’t describe their relationship.

Her house is the second from the end of the block, and he pulls into the empty driveway. _Dorian really wasn’t lying about her car trouble,_ he muses, trudging up to the front step and knocking.

After a minute with no response, he peeks through the glass framing the door. The sight of a hallway greets him, with a brightly lit room at the end of it. Moran passes through the room, and he knocks sharply again. Her head comes into sight and she looks down the hallway to see him freezing on her stoop.

The ungraceful manner in which she scurries down the hall makes him smirk.

“Sorry, sorry!” She flings the door open and dashes back down the hall. Solas closes the door behind him and toes off his shoes, following her into the room. She’s frantically shaking spices into a boiling pot when he enters the kitchen.

“Too busy attempting to prove your ridiculous theories to finish your cooking?” he remarks. She frowns at the pot.

“Time to make fun of me means time to help.” He leans against the doorframe as she dusts off her hands. “When the timer goes off, strain this and dump it into that,” she points. “Then cover it.” She tosses a box of aluminum foil on the counter and discards her stained apron.

“I’m going to change.” Solas waits until she’s fully out of the room before he examines the dish. Some kind of pasta creation. By the time Moran returns, he’s finished crimping the foil over the large bowl.

“Aah, thank you, I got a late start with the croutons.” He turns to see her and his heart jumps into his throat when he does.

Gone are the flour-covered sweatpants and the stained apron, replaced by an elegant black dress. She is beautiful and refined, the sort of lovely creature he’d find at a concert hall or theater, not a smart-mouthed TA’s Satinalia party. Moran finishes adjusting an earring and drops her shoes, stepping into them.

“I made that for Dorian’s birthday once and he insisted I make it again for the party, he loved it _so_ much.” He swallows the strangled noise that surely would have escaped his throat and nods, turning towards the door.

“Wait, I’m not ready yet. Could you zip me up?” she asks, turning away from him to reveal her bare back. It’s obvious she attempted it before giving up, as the zipper is pulled up a little from the bottom. He inhales sharply. _It is far too intimate, too familiar_ he thinks, but he cannot deny her. Solas can smell the shampoo in her hair as he approaches, fingers fumbling for the small zipper. He can see a small mole on her back, the clasp of her bra — _too close too close—_ but his fingers linger at the top of her dress. They share a look, her eyebrow quirking as if she knows something he doesn’t _—you stupid stupid man._ Solas clears his throat.

“Come, I’m sure Dorian will be missing his…”

“Tevinter-style pasta salad.”

“You can’t be serious.” Moran rolls her eyes as she pulls on her coat. He takes the dish to his car as she locks up.

“It was _his_ request.” They slip into an oddly comfortable silence as he pulls on to the street. Snow falls lazily in fat flakes, muting sounds from other cars.

“Thank you for agreeing to carpool, I know Dorian must have twisted your arm.” She shifts awkwardly in the passenger seat next to him. It’s snowing even harder now, if that was even possible. They stop at a traffic light. The red and green signals cast soft light on the snow and he looks at her, face illuminated by the streetlight.

“I suggested it.” The light turns green as she stares at him. “It was practical. You were in need of transport and on the way to the party.” Moran _hms_ in response. The silence is less awkward as they leave the city, sidewalks fading to suburbs fading to forests. He wants to say _you are beautiful_ but the words stutter on his lips. She shifts in the passenger seat, gazing out the window. The snowflakes fly towards the windshield like stars in a science fiction spacecraft— _if you don’t say something now you’ll never say anything—_

“You look lovely.” He sees her start from his peripheral vision.

“I… that is one of the last things I expected you to say.” She twists a lock of her hair, embarrassed, and looks out to the road.

“Why?” He knows they have an, at times, antagonistic relationship, but he has never been petty enough to insult her appearance. “Because it is the truth?”

Solas can almost _hear_ her roll her eyes. Shaking her head, she leans toward him, a lecture prepared.

“You are so—!”

A large animal appears on the road in front of the car and he swerves, slamming the brakes, and they slide off the side of the road and down the bank, coming to a halt against the tree line.

For several moments, there is nothing but the sound of harsh breaths, and he glances over to see Moran white-knuckled on the grab-handle, breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” She doesn’t respond, eyes darting wildly.

“ _Moran._ ” He touches her shoulder and she jerks, taking a shuddering gasp.

“I’m not hurt,” she whispers, and relaxes her grip. Solas tries to drive back on the road, but a touch of the accelerator sends the tires spinning. He shifts into park and gets out into knee-deep snow, assessing their predicament. Solas knows he doesn’t have a shovel, or anything that could dig them out without freezing his hands, and gets back in the car.

“Can you call a tow truck?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“There’s no service, we’re in the mountains, _of course_ there’s no service. _Creators,_ I’m so _stupid._ ” She pulls at her hair, tears threatening to spill over.

“The fault was mine, I… I was not watching the road.” Solas places an awkward hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shake him off. Solas glances into the backseat. The pasta is, miraculously, still contained in its bowl. He also sees the corner of a blanket peeking out from under the seat.

“Come, sit in the back.” He squeezes between the seats and she follows. He unfurls the blanket and they both settle under it, watching the snow build up on the windshield for a long time. Her head eventually comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks quietly. Moran gives a small nod, and their knees bump. He dismisses her murmured apology. After a long silence, she speaks.

“I didn’t even really want to go to this party,” Moran sighs. “I was going to stay home and finish grading papers but Dorian _insisted_ I take some time off and go to his stupid family estate in the _mountains._ ”

“He pestered me as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if the blizzard was his doing,” and that makes her laugh, tight and a little strained, but she relaxes a little. Their knees bump again.

“That man can be so… so _insufferable,_ I swear. He once told me he was surprised that ‘southern elves’ didn’t dance naked in the moonlight.”

“He has told me, on several occasions, that I dress like a ‘hobo apostate.’” She laughs again, and they slip into easy conversation, watching the falling snow pile up on the windshield. They both relax more, and Solas eventually takes off his shoes to be comfortable. Moran removes her earrings, and the ring on her left hand flashes in the dim light from the console.

“Why do you wear that?” he asks, in a streak of boldness. She’s quiet for a moment, staring at the ring.

“I was married, about, _oh,_ it must have been twenty years ago now.”

“Was?” he prods.

“Humans thought he was being suspicious, walking down the street with his hands in his pockets. They called the police, and the police shot him. They,” she sighs. “They thought he had a gun.” He doesn’t know how to respond. She continues without prodding.

“He was going out to buy baby books.”

“I am sorry.” She waves her hand in dismissal.

“It was a long time ago, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” She slumps in the seat, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. “To answer your question, well. I used to wear it because I didn’t want to forget him. Now…” she slides it off her finger, examining it in the dim light. “Old habits, I suppose.” Unthinkingly, he wipes away the single tear that slips out and makes its way down her cheek. Moran didn’t seem to realize she was crying until he did so, and that only made more tears fall.

“I—” she gasps. He brushes the tears away with his thumb, his hand lingering on her cheek— _their faces are so close—_ and impulsively, his fingertips trace the line of her jaw. The noise she makes is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she presses a hand to her mouth. She starts again.

“I can’t help but feel a little guilty for having feelings for you,” and his heart jumps in his throat. They both freeze, and slowly meet each other’s eyes.

“What?” he says dumbly, completely understanding what she said but—

“I love you,” she chokes out, making that same noise again. “I love you, you insufferable, _arrogant_ , big-headed—” Moran punctuates each adjective with a light blow to his chest. Solas catches her hands, but she continues. “—accommodating, intelligent, kind, stupid _stupid_ man.” His head is buzzing. His mouth hangs open, dumbstruck. She blows her nose and looks away with a wry smile _—you need to answer her tell her what you’ve been trying to say for weeks—_ but he can’t respond, _he doesn’t_ and she takes his silence as an answer.

“This is the part where you utterly destroy me and my pitiful feelings with your superb wit and intellect.” She looks up, trying in vain to blink back more tears. Solas only now notices that she has moved away from him, the blanket slipping from her shoulders and onto the seat.

Moran curls in on herself, resting her head against the cold window instead of his shoulder, drawing her knees to her chest instead of accidentally bumping his under the blanket.

“I…”

“It’s fine. It’s okay,” she cuts him off before he can even start. “I’m… I’m going to try and get some sleep. We’ll see if someone can come pick us up in the morning.” Her eyes shut, brow furrowed as though she’s struggling to keep them closed. He waits, watches, until her brow relaxes and her breathing slows into its natural rhythm, and he drapes the blanket back over her. After a while, he falls asleep himself.

Solas wakes, hours later, to find she has shifted to lean against him, against his warmth. He smiles, and closes his eyes.

In the morning, they manage to contact Cassandra, and she drives them back to town. Not a word is spoken between them.

 

Three days later, when his car and his courage have finally thawed, he stops by her house. A small, wilted bouquet of flowers rests in the passenger seat beside him, taunting him from his peripheral vision.

When he pulls up, she’s shoveling her driveway. Cheeks red, mittens soaked, sweating, and entirely beautiful.

He leaves the flowers in the car.

“Solas! What are you doing here?” She seems surprised, almost falsely pleasant, as though nothing had happened _because it was your fault you didn’t say anything you stupid stupid man._

“I… wanted to say that,” he clears his throat awkwardly. “I wanted to say that I have feelings for you. Too.” He clears his throat again, then after a beat nods and stiffly heads back to his car.

“Wait!” He turns around, face as red as hers. “I’m almost done out here, so… do you want to come in for some cocoa?” A shy smile crosses her face, mirroring his own.

“I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my [tumblr](http://lacksley.tumblr.com)
> 
> this is very self-indulgent and very old I'm sorry


End file.
